Love, Past Tense
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: Manny being in love with Craig. Poetic Manny drabble.


I could see his hard, bright smile. His hair in that new short cut, all the curls gone. But they were still there, still at the edges. I could see his broad shoulders and his height. He wasn't a teenager anymore, I knew this. But neither was I.

So I had loved him. That seemed okay. I didn't know if I loved him anymore. I'd thought that I loved Jay, maybe. But there really had never been anyone but him, not since eighth grade. And eighth grade was a long time ago, a lifetime ago.

I couldn't continue to love him, not around all the hurt. Not after all the things he's given me away over, things he's chosen over me. Ashley and drugs and his band and his life. I wondered what I was to him. Just a cute little girl who reminded him of his sister so much that he couldn't even kiss me. Just a sexy distraction form his inability to deal with his own emotions. But he was my emotion. He was what and who I channeled everything into. Without him I was nothing.

Oh, it wasn't true. We were all something. I had had cheerleading, because my body never let me down. It would bend and twist to my will. Sure, it had never let me down, except for that time that it got pregnant after my first time. But hadn't I wanted that? My DNA all twisted up in his, that little person who was him and me. But I killed it. Too much symbolism, maybe.

And there were all the nice times. That time he asked me to dance when me and Emma thought he liked her. But he came over so sexy cool and kind of shy, and that spiky dog collar around his neck and the wife beater shirt, I felt stirrings and twistings beyond my age. I couldn't look at his full lips without wanting to bite them. Lost in his eyes. That's stupid and cliché, but I was. I was hypnotized, and his eyes were so large and such a funny color, greenish hazel brown. Long lashes, long limbs, and at that point when he was 14 he was barely more than a child but I was still younger. He came over and ducked his head and I could see every curl, the way the curls clung to his neck, the pulsing veins, his collar bones visible beneath the straps of that red T-shirt. Everything was in stark and clear relief and he said my name, and I'd never heard my name said with that inflection, kind of dipping in the middle, a roller coaster ride of a name, "Manny, do you want to dance?" I'd never wanted anything so much.

That time I was at the skating rink, practicing my new routine, gliding, my body never giving out or giving in, and then there he was. Crazy curly hair under that hat he wore that winter, his boots slipping on the ice as I slid in precision, practiced curves and lines, the scarf I knitted for him around his neck.

"It's you," he said, "it's always been you," When he said that my heart swelled with blood and the smile just rose up from the center of my being, and I felt the joy of getting everything I wanted.

And then the summer day, late summer and the shame bright in the sunshine about that stupid video Peter e-mailed to everyone. My dreams exposed and dying like fish on the shore. He came over to me and said whatever he said, that he didn't want me to feel bad. I could see the sun laying on his leather jacket, the cracks in the leather as he bent his arms casually over the edge of the wooden bench. I hesitated, bit into my globular mayonnaise sandwich. Then on Emma's porch, me in those silly jammies and he came over in his usual attire, faded baggy jeans and converse sneakers and a soft T-shirt, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He sat down next to me and put his hand lightly on my stomach and kissed me. Closing my eyes, living in that kiss for a lifetime, lifetimes. How I had loved him.

Now he was in Europe and I was here in college and I was sure he was making love to Ashley every night. But I didn't envy her, I didn't think I did. He had been, in the end, too much to keep up with, to keep a hold of. I wanted him but, well, the time had come to let go.

I wasn't good at letting go. I liked to hold things in my arms, cling to things with my soul. I liked to live in the circles of attention. Now I was in the cold. I couldn't see how it was for the best. Confused. He had been the only thing I had ever known. Now I was in my own wilderness without a map, without a compass or a GPS. Struggling alone because I wasn't Ashley or a line of coke or a sheet of music and scribbled lyrics. I was never what he really wanted. Maybe I was just what he couldn't avoid.


End file.
